Desperate Measures
by embrace-your-inner-dork
Summary: Gilderoy Lockhart is five years out of school and still a nobody. He's so worthless that even his best friend, who rules the press, can't seem to make a story out of him. But then he gets an idea... She wants a story? He'll give her one. Lockhart/Rita.


**A/N:** All right, so this was actually my first entry in a writing contest on the message boards, where each of us was given a song and a random word to work with, based on what we put down for our favourite ships. I was given the word 'indecent' and the song 'Black-Hearted Woman' by the Allman Brothers. Anyone familiar with the song might pick up that I fixated on the line 'Well I'm going out to find a new way babe, oh, to get back into your game.' Also, there are references to a second-place-winning drabble I wrote on the MNFF forums in which Lockhart and Rita were established as childhood friends, and they'd essentially set each other up - Lockhart charmed Rita's quill, and Rita gave Lockhart the idea to use memory charms to his advantage. So, obviously they're not mine. :D

* * *

"Gilderoy, this is absolute _gold!_ How in the world do you find these things out?"

Twenty-two-year-old Lockhart put on a smug grin and watched his best friend's face light up as she frantically scribbled down the findings. "I have my ways, Rita darling," he drawled, sounding immensely proud of himself. Under the surface, though, a twinge of envy coursed through him - she got so excited about these ridiculous things that total strangers did, but never seemed to be impressed with _him,_ no matter what he did. If it wasn't newsworthy, it wasn't worthy, _period._ "So did you write down the other thing too?"

Rita paused awkwardly, the tip of her quill in her mouth. "Which other thing?"

"You know... the one about me?"

"Oh... er, yes, of course. How could you think I'd forget that?"

Gilderoy frowned. _Liar._ She was good at lying to everyone else, but he knew her too well. She couldn't get past him. And he would be the first to admit that it _hurt_ - it was a blow to his pride that not even his closest friend seemed to care about him. Sometimes he wished he couldn't tell when she was lying. _Liar liar, robes on fire._

But then, he was a liar too. He grinned so as not to let her know anything was wrong. See, that was a lie right there. But he could tell the truth, too - like that, truthfully, he was starved for attention - from her, from _anyone_.

From everyone.

From _her._

_Through_ her.

A despicable thought crossed his mind - a diabolical idea that a _certain someone_ had given him, back in school, and he never thought of actually doing it. He'd thought about it often, yes, but never actually...

But it would get him attention. People would know him. People would _love_ him. His best friend would pull her head out of others' business and see what was in front of her.

He'd play her game.

And _win._

All he needed to do, he reasoned as he told her goodbye, was find someplace where something interesting was bound to happen.

**--**

"Oh, Finn, my old friend," Lockhart beamed, throwing his arm around his former classmate Finian O'Hurley just outside the Bandon city limits. "How _are_ you?"

O'Hurley, being a slight recluse, plucked Lockhart's unwelcome arm off his shoulder, then rubbed his eyes. "I had a long night. Busy dealin' with a nearby nuisance."

"Oh really? What sort of nuisa--" Lockhart stopped cold, realising the other man looked rather the worse for wear. "What happened to you?"

"Like I said, a nuisance. Bloody banshee 'round here all the time. Fin'lly got rid of the thing once and for all."

The blond's eyes lit up. "So you defeated a banshee?"

"Yes."

"By yourself?"

"Yes."

"And nobody knows you did it?"

"Not a soul, an' I don't intend to tell 'em, either."

Lockhart rubbed his hands together greedily. _Jackpot._ "So, Finn, why don't you tell me all about how you did it. I swear I won't tell anyone you did it; I'm just... curious." And he wasn't lying. He took mental notes as the hermit talked, nodding and smiling.

When the story'd been told, Lockhart breathed in sharply. Was he really going to do this? Was attention worth _this?_ Was he really going to do this just to be _noticed_ by people... to be noticed by _Rita?_

He raised his wand. Of _course_ he was.

And he hadn't lied this time. He wouldn't tell anyone that Finian O'Hurley had defeated the Bandon Banshee.

"Obliviate!"

He'd tell everyone that Gilderoy Lockhart had defeated the Bandon Banshee.

**--**

"...and that's how I did it," he finished, looking immensely proud of himself. And this time, in a twisted, tainted way, he _was._ He had her hanging off his every word.

Rita lowered her glasses and looked at him.

This suddenly didn't look so good. Maybe it _hadn't_ been worth it.

"Gilderoy, do you actually expect me to believe you?"

Oh no. This wasn't how this was supposed to go. He went through all that trouble; she wasn't supposed to see through him. She wasn't supposed to reject him. Nobody was. He was supposed to be taken at face value and skyrocket to instant fame and heroism with a few strokes of her quill. He knew that he was the only one that could tell when she was lying - he'd just forgotten that it worked the other way as well.

"I'd accuse you of making it up, but you're not the type to do your research just for fiction. And if you've done what I think you've done, then I can't believe you actually did it. It's indecent, and despicable, and morally wrong in every sense of the word. If I'm right, you're willing to trash and ruin others' lives for your own gain. If I'm right, what you've done is devious and sickening, and any word of it getting out would permanently ruin you - and you've done it anyway."

Lockhart gulped loudly. She knew - she _knew,_ and she wouldn't stand for it, and he'd dashed any hope he'd had left.

"You did it. I can't believe it. You _actually_ did it."

His own friend and partner-in-crime would take him down.

...or she'd lean into him and slip her hand under his jaw and _kiss him?_

She pulled back just as suddenly as she'd started, leaving him breathless and, for once in his life, speechless. And she could only grin crookedly. "You actually did it, you idiot, and I _love_ it."

Wait, _what?_

"I was waiting for you to take what was yours. You've been starving for attention since you were in nappies, and you finally took charge and did what it took to _get_ that attention. You finally took the old Slytherin precept from way back in school to do whatever it took to get what you wanted."

Yes. This was it. Oh my Godric, this was what he'd been working for. He watched a Grinch-like smile spread across his best friend's face as she grabbed her quill to address the story - _his_ story - to her boss' office at the Prophet. He wasn't sure whether he'd even been trying to get her attention - no, her _love_ - specifically, or just the regard he'd been so desperately craving, but from the looks of it, he'd just gotten both.

"You're despicable."

"And I love you too."

It didn't even matter who said which, but either way, they'd both meant it.


End file.
